This was published in California Quarterly back in 2006.
Tag: Wilderness
My Dad Makes A Walking Stick
Sometimes he will just stare
into layered forest, like a
surfer watching waves. Look
closely, poison ivy, ferns, dogwood
flowers. Walk with him, see
downed limbs, branches sprouting
green, but soon to die. Notice
these things, the fallen are
hiking companions. Fractured
Virginia wilderness, hickory, oak,
walnut, redbud, wood that he studies
to know. Even before death some are
stronger than others. Always has
a serrated folding saw, he holds it
steady, cuts five or six feet, bits of
tree dust drift with dragonflies. He
carries these pieces like shouldered
fishing rods. In the basement, whittling
knife separates outer bark from cambium,
sanded before brushed with lacquer to
dry, then shine, touch the earth again,
reflect the gleaming sun.
Seeing the Mountain Lion
please let me
tell the truth
that I saw
it, the mountain
lion, lithe, yes
springy, legs, twitching
tail, like at
the zoo but
free on golden
hillside, in California
I had just
eaten a banana
morning at camp
counselor for kids
with HIV, beautiful
sun peeking through
fog and me
and the young
lion, that I’d
wanted to see
for hundreds of
miles hiking, camping
hours of night
and nothing, but
longing for wild
but nothing, maybe
a rattlesnake or
coyote, but then
the moment passed
and it moved
down the hill
toward the road
the next day
saw it dead
on the asphalt
I wanted to
take some of
its teeth, save
something, after so
much time waiting
but I let
it rest, sad
it was gone
Daniel W. Polk 